


Until My Heart is Black and Blue

by KatyTheInspiredWorkaholic



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: A LOT of angst and feelings, Anal Sex, And blowjobs, Angst, Bottom!Rick, Drabbles/Non-polished works, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Kind of have to - it's Rickyl week, M/M, More tags to come as I finish writing them, Pining, Refrence to masturbation, Rickyl Week 2015, That's right I will write porn, Unrequited Love, kind of, probably smut, top!Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-16 20:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4640016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatyTheInspiredWorkaholic/pseuds/KatyTheInspiredWorkaholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My Rickyl Week One-shots/Drabbles</p><p>Day 01 - the moment you started to ship them (or) fell in love with their friendship<br/>Day 02 - favorite Rickyl episode(s)<br/>Day 03 - favorite moment(s) they protected one another<br/>Day 04 - favorite touch(es) ((EXPLICIT ENDING))<br/>Day 05 - most heartbreaking moment(s)<br/>Day 06 - favorite quote(s) ((MATURE ENDING))<br/>Day 07 - anything goes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Thank my friend Sierra for tagging me in this on tumblr and convincing me I have to try, even if they are super quickly written drabbles that aren't 100% accurate. Honestly half the time idek what I'm writing, I get off topic a lot. And there's cannon divergence somewhere usually. I will put warnings before the chapters that have smut/porn, and I will change the tags/ratings when it happens too.
> 
> Also she didn't like my short little answers I wrote the first time, but I DID, so I have them posted before the drabbles. As well as the photo-manips, which I also made today.
> 
> Only bad things in this chapter are language, smutty stuff to come.
> 
> No beta, sorry for my run-on sentences.

**Day 01** \- the moment you started to ship them (or) fell in love with their friendship

\--

_For me it was probably season 3, when I saw how well they moved together after the long winter we know nothing about, how much Rick relied on Daryl and his judgment, and how loyal Daryl was to Rick. They just fit together, two people who were so opposite in where they came from and how they were raised, and they would have never had this in any other situation. I was just so impressed with the writing and development of how their friendship came to be. The actual **moment** was in s03e04, when they’re cornered in the boiler room and Oscar shoots whatever the other little squirrely inmate was that pulled the alarm. Oscar still has his gun raised in Rick’s direction, and it pans over to Daryl behind him with his hunting knife up, and his hands are shaking – moving back and forth on the balls of his feet as he creeps closer and closer, just one wrong move and that giant man would’ve had that hunting knife buried in his skull. It was such a moment that I realized “Wow, he really means something to him.” _

_I think what I ACTUALLY said out loud was “Oh My God! Daryl was READY!!! He was gonna fucking kill him. Shit, you really don’t fuck with Daryl, Jesus-“ and other expletives because to me it was such a shocking moment that put it IN YOUR FACE that not only has Daryl been fully integrated into the group but he has accepted the group as well. They’re family now and he will kill for them. Especially Rick. Then I became hyper-focused on anything with the two of them, the non-verbal cues, the touches, the conversations spoken so low it’s kept just in the space between them, the loyalty and trust they hold in one another – and I fell in love._

\--

Daryl could still remember the heat at his back as he guarded Rick’s flank; he, Maggie, Glen, and T-Dog all in formation as they worked their way into the prison. Could feel this white-hot intensity pulsing through his veins that was hard to label, but if he had to he would call it awareness. This natural instinct of how the ex-sheriff was going to move, where he was pointing his gun, and what he himself needed to do to keep every angle covered as they scouted in tandem down the dark corridors once they got inside. That instinctual impulse of just knowing other’s thoughts and predicting their actions was something the redneck had always thought he had a knack for, perfected through brutal trial and error growing up the way he did. Knowing how a person was going to react saved his life more than once, and not guessing correctly had left more than a few scars. But to have that other person know _him_ just as well was something so foreign to Daryl for a long time he didn’t know what to do with it, or how to handle it. For months on the road Rick and Daryl tip-toed around each other awkwardly, surprised when they did something so in sync it was like they had known each other for years instead of months. It took a few trust falls for them to accept whatever this was, and then they moved like one person, with no hesitation and becoming an extension of each other that kept the group alive over the harsh winter. Now Daryl didn’t know how he had survived without it, being at Rick’s side was something that was as easy as breathing, felt right somehow and he had always been zen enough to know that when you have something good to just go with it.

He hadn’t been expecting the feelings that came with the connection.

It was confusing how they appeared out of nowhere, hot and intense and sudden, so much so it knocked him on his ass the first time. All from a damn smile directed at him, after surviving another fire-fight with a herd, the whole group covered in sweat and walker guts. He felt like a dumb-as-fuck teenager again with the random shots of arousal that hit him at all the wrong times. He had a good hold on himself, though, enough control that he could smother the feelings and get his head straight after a flash of hot primal _need_ shot through him. Stamped it out, shook it off, and brought himself back to center. Rick needed him, and that was all that really mattered to Daryl in the end.

So all winter Daryl made sure he was there. If Rick needed to find something, Daryl was already searching. If Rick needed a hand, Daryl was already lifting half the weight. The group needed food, Daryl was already hunting. Shelter, Daryl had already scoped out a few places. Protection and rest, Daryl had first watch. Whatever he could do, because as the weeks wore on the group grew weaker and weaker and Rick was the main one picking up the slack. He had told the man he didn’t have to do all the heavy lifting, and he meant it.

It had nothing to do with his stupid, gorgeous face. Or the good intentions and _conviction_ that made Daryl’s insides squirm though he couldn’t tell you why. Something about Rick Grimes just made him _feel_ too much, made him want to try. For a while he tried to trick himself, say it was more of a “they can do it, so why can’t I?” vanity on his part, or a need to do things himself before these dumb city people fucked everything up. And not that he wanted to know what those bright blue eyes looked like when they were gazing in his direction.

Now they practically communicated through pointed looks alone, and Daryl would never admit how much that affected him. 

The whole taking of the prison had been an adrenaline fueled nightmare, from the packs of walkers in the corners of the hallways, to the group of inmates hiding out in the cafeteria. Hershel getting bit, Rick chopping off half his leg in a desperate attempt to save his life. The fucking pissing contest with the inmate who claimed the prison and told them to get out, the redneck was glad Rick put an axe through his skull because Daryl had already been mentally engraving the fucker’s name on an arrow. Like hell he could take a swing at Rick and keep breathing, threw a fucking walker at him, Daryl _wished_ it had been him that killed him. But as Rick said, shit happens. 

The constant waves of adrenaline and fear and relief that were unrelenting those first few days were exhausting. They had cleared the cell block, had shelter and beds and food for the first time since the farm had gone up in flames. So why couldn’t Rick calm down? The man continued to be constantly on red alert, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yes the place was good, a miracle if you tilted your head and squinted a bit, but too good to be true? Daryl had to pull him aside the first night, listen to his harsh whispered fears and murmur to him lowly in response “No, it’s not. We spill’d blood, it wasn’ easy. We earn’d this.” And he spoke with as much conviction as he could, as much as he saw in Rick’s face every damn day, matching it so the panic would leave those strained blue eyes. It worked for that night, the other man nodding and bumping his shoulder companionably. The action made Daryl want to smile, though he still had problems making himself actually do so. 

Whatever he could do to help.

Then the alarms went off.

And that fucking squirrely kid was still alive, cornered them in the boiler room and Daryl was stuck pushing against the fragile doors with his feet scrambling for purchase on the cement floor. Leaving Rick and the new guy, Oscar, to fend for themselves. All he had to hear was “We can take ‘em, this prison is ours!” for his whole brain to start screaming at him. Holding the door closed didn’t matter if the fuckers shot him and Rick between the eyes, and _like hell_ that was happening. He didn’t spend all winter keeping that asshole alive and staring at his stupid, gorgeous face just to have him die _when he was in the same fucking room._

His crossbow was by his feet, and no matter how much his shoes slid on the concrete he still couldn’t reach the damn thing without letting go of the door and letting the walkers inside. His stregnth was fading fast and he was going to be too winded to fight back once they broke through if he kept this up. _Fuck it_ , he was never going to get it latched properly with the heavy fucker pushing against it, so he let go and let the corpses fall through the doors. And of course, there was really only one blocking the damn doorway. With a quick brutal stab, he shanked the walker through his skull and shoved the body at the group still ambling outside, before slamming the door shut and finally latching it. Then the gunshot echoed through the room. Daryl spun with his hunting knife still clutched tight in his fist, already running deep into the room and dodging between the machines, starting to shake in fear and anger because if someone shot Rick and he couldn't done something he wouldn't be able to –

But Rick Grimes still stood there in one piece, with his hand outstretched like a dumbass, as if that would stop the bullet or keep him from getting shot too. Oscar still had the gun up, pointed where he had shot the inmate over Rick’s shoulder. And Daryl couldn’t stop _shaking_. His hand trembled with the force of it, from the tension that locked up the muscles in his shoulders and arms and hands, his skin crawling with fear and adrenaline that burned and numbed every nerve ending. He silently inched closer and closer, moving back and forth on his feet like a rattlesnake, ready to spring forward if the larger man so much as _twitched_ his trigger finger. It probably wouldn’t do anything to save Rick’s life, which is what scared Daryl the most, but his hunting knife would be _buried_ in the other’s skull before he heard the gunshot. 

Like _hell_ Rick was dying on his watch.

He let his eyes dart back and forth between Rick and Oscar, because the big man wasn’t lowering the gun, and it was hard to tell if Rick had everything under control. But Rick didn’t flinch, had finally caught his breath, and was inching closer as well. If they both had to take him out, so fucking be it. Daryl was ready for any signal, what he had told Rick the day before still applied. _“Just giv’ me a signal, and I’ll take ‘em out.”_

Then Oscar dropped the gun, letting it hang from his hand, and Rick took it from him.

Daryl didn’t even know he had been holding his breath until that moment. 

And it took a few more seconds before Daryl felt comfortable enough to drop his knife, no matter how relieved Rick looked. 

\-- 

Once he did, he went to the body of the other inmate, not wanting the man to come back a third damn time. It was more to look like he was doing something useful while he settled himself, they had to get back to the others. Make sure everyone was alright. So he didn’t see Rick nod at Oscar to leave the room, or hear the other man say his name, he was too busy trying to calm his heart that was trying to beat its way out of his chest.

Rick spinning him around and pushing him into the wall of the boiler room with his body did not help that feat.

One hand threaded through his hair and held onto the side of Daryl’s head to grab his attention, the other still had the gun pointed towards the ground, but Rick was crowded against him and staring right into his eyes. “Hey, ya with me?” Rick asked, breathed more than asked, his bright blue eyes wide and unblinking and boring into his own. Hs warm breath ghosted over Daryl’s chapped lips, and the hunter suddenly couldn’t catch his breath again. But he nodded, because when Rick asked something of Daryl, he answered. Rick leaned his head against Daryl’s, closing those blue eyes so the hunter could breathe again, and took a shaky breath of his own. His body was a solid wall of warmth, hot and soaked with sweat and thrumming with residual adrenaline through the blood stained white T-shirt, all lean muscle and bone from months of not eating properly, and Daryl felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin from the contact. 

“Thank you,” Rick murmured, and all Daryl could do was nod against him. They couldn’t stay there, couldn’t do anything more than what they were doing in that moment, but Daryl would never forget it. The comfort it felt to be molded against Rick like he belonged there was something Daryl could have gone a _lifetime_ without knowing, but ultimately would have given anything to know it, even though the memory would tear at his chest at the worst of times for years to come.


	2. Episode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst this time, so sorry, no smut, just feels and oblivious guys being dumb. And bad language. And feels.

**Day 02** \- favorite Rickyl episode(s)

\--

_s03ep09: The Suicide King_

_I know everyone makes fun of that scene when Daryl walks away. Pairing it with versions of “I will always love you” and other sad but cheesy love songs. Little memes of Rick’s face with bold words saying “Why does he look like he just went through a horrible break up – Oh, because he did.” Ending with an image of Daryl leaving with his brother._

_But honestly? If that many people can see the look of devastation on Rick’s face, how can anyone deny that in that moment it was like his whole world fell apart? That realization that Daryl didn’t really need them, if the choice was made so simply to leave, and that maybe he meant more to Rick than Rick meant to him. Which is obviously a bold-faced lie, but grief creates the worst images of self-doubt, and it really shows here the depth of their relationship. Especially on Rick’s part._

_I chose this episode because not only is it when Rick goes back for Daryl at Woodbury, but it shows that contrast and shock that Daryl did actually leave. Rick desperately tried to appeal to every angle he thought meant something to Daryl, but ultimately didn’t say the one that probably mattered. He also didn’t give Merle any lee-way, forcing Daryl into a corner, and that regret shows until Daryl returns to the prison._

_That being said this drabble is totally in Daryl’s POV. It kind of ended up that way on accident, it’s been written many times from Rick’s POV by other people so I tried something different and ultimately was more inspired._

\--

He hadn’t expected anyone to come back for him.

It had crossed his mind, sure, thinking Rick would ride in on a white horse and save his ass John Wayne style, because the ex-sheriff was a dramatic fucker if nothing else. They already had the one-eyed villain, so why the fuck not? But it was more a thought created from bitterness and a fantasy to entertain him as the Governor’s boys tried to beat on him. They hit like pussies anyway. It wasn’t until he heard the roar of the crowd, and saw his brother with him in a circle of blood-thirsty townspeople that he realized he wasn’t going to die easy. He knew he was a dead man, because there was no way Rick was dumb enough to come back for him. They barely made it out the first time. But he thought his captors would chicken out and shoot him in the head or cut his throat, if their methods of “torturing” him earlier were any precursor. 

Then the first gunshot echoed against the dark brick buildings, and the first thought in his head was _that idiot_ , followed by a mantra of _that dumb son of a bitch_ , because it could only be one person throwing damn flash grenades into the crowd. _He actually came back._ Daryl hadn’t allowed himself to hope, knowing it would be better for them all if they didn’t put themselves back in the same damn situation he had gotten caught on purpose to get them out of, but that idiot actually came back for him anyway. 

That really shouldn’t have made him feel anything positive, especially whatever was filling his chest so fully and swiftly he was surprised it didn’t burst out of his ribcage.

The group got out of Woodbury easy enough the second time around. The arena was a circle of chaos and smoke and gunfire even though they lit out like cockroaches scattering from a spotlight. Of course, Rick tried to protest Merle coming with them, but that stubborn one-handed bastard was as keen on getting out of the gated town as the rest of them, and he knew the way. Daryl had to practically drag Rick and Maggie into the woods after his brother, who was a jackass but was right when he said they didn’t have time to debate.

Besides, it wasn’t like Daryl would leave him again anyway, Rick should know that. He had to. He was going to make some conditions for Merle at the prison, sure, but he wouldn’t make Daryl turn away his brother right after he just found him again. There was no way, Rick wouldn’t do that. 

\--

This was such _bullshit!_

“Yer gonna leave Merle, but take _The Last Samurai_ wit’ ya!?” Daryl spit, gesturing to the silent woman standing behind them.

“She’s not comin’ back either,” Rick informed him, like it would somehow make everything better. Well it didn’t! Daryl tightened his hold on the strap of his crossbow to keep himself in check. Rick didn’t respond to violent outbursts, Daryl learned that the day he met him at the quarry, and was reminded during the shouting match on the edge of the forest moments before. He was still a little sore at Glen for keeping that gun pointed at his face for far longer than necessary. As well as at Merle for antagonizing everyone _like he always does_ when it really wasn’t helpful! And then at Rick, for not having his back. None of them did, and Daryl was trying really hard to not be angry about that. Merle was his _brother_ , his last living relative and the only remaining piece of his life before the world ended. His life had been shit, sure, but it had been _his_. His and Merle’s. And Rick was pulling the same crap with Merle as he had done with the prisoners. He had listened to Daryl then, why couldn’t he now?

Daryl had Rick’s back for the past 8 months, and now he couldn’t give him this? 

“Y’all don’ know!” Daryl exclaimed. “Merle’s diff’rent, he’s blood.”

“No, he’s your blood! Not mine!” Glen spat, face still bruised and starting to swell, and Daryl fell quiet at the statement. Was that really how it was going to be? “My blood is standing right here, this is my family! Here and back at the prison.”

“That family includes you,” Rick added, catching his eyes and already seeing that Daryl was distancing himself. Rick knew him well, it was just a shame he didn’t know him well enough, apparently. “Merle isn’t.” 

Something heavy and foreboding sunk in Daryl’s chest, seeing Rick trying to convince him with honest blue eyes and strong words full of conviction. But that wasn’t how family worked, and Daryl wasn’t that kind of man. 

“Fine,” he ground out with as little emotion as he could. “We’ll fend fer ourselves.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Glen back-pedaled, but Daryl was too focused on the look on Rick’s face.

“It’s always been me an’ Merle,” Daryl explained, that’s what family is. You don’t turn your back on family, unless they turn their backs on you. 

“Ya don’t have to do this, Daryl,” Maggie tried to reason with him. _Yeah, I do._

“Say good-bye to yer pop for me,” he said to her as he brushed his way out of the circle they had formed, heading for the car to get his things. There was really no choice here, he couldn’t live with himself if he left Merle alone in the woods, to fend for himself – again. The rest of his family was tough, they would be fine without him.

“Daryl!” Rick’s voice grew louder along with the hurried footsteps of Rick chasing after him. “Hey,” he said as he got to him, but Daryl didn’t break his stride. Once he set his mind to something he stuck with it, no matter how much it killed him to leave behind the one friend he really ever had that brought out something good in him. “Hey! There has to be another way,” Rick said, getting in front of him and stopping him from walking any further. 

Daryl had enough respect for the man to look him in the eye before continuing to the car. “Ya can’ ask me ta leave him, already done tha’ once.”

“We started somethang here,” Rick said hurriedly, chasing after him again. And as much as Daryl knew he meant Woodbury, and the Governor who almost killed him, his first thought was something else entirely. Something he shoved down deep and replaced with a bit of anger and disappointment because was Rick _really_ trying to guilt him into staying? Like Glen had done, mentioning Carol, who out of all of them might be the only one to understand why he couldn’t just leave Merle again. Daryl wasn’t a good enough man to not passive-aggressively do the same to Rick.

“Ya take care of yerself,” Daryl told him honestly, digging for his pack in the trunk, looking up only to get an eyeful of a Rick Grimes he thought had died on the road over the winter. Desperate, a lost look clouding his blue eyes, and it made Daryl pause for a moment. Soak up what would be that last time he would see the man he could easily call his best friend. “Of Little Asskicker,” he continued. “Carl.” Shit, he might be going to far, Rick’s resolve was shattering before him. The man realizing how many people he’d have to watch over –without Daryl’s help. And Daryl did feel guilty now, knowing how many people he wasn’t saying good bye to. How much he was hefting back on to Rick’s shoulders. Rick had stopped pleading with him verbally, but Daryl had never seen the open, raw look of devastation on the other man’s face that just kept getting worse.

“That’s one tough kid.” It was all Daryl could give him for comfort. He wanted to say more, hesitated for a moment, and didn’t take his eyes off of Rick Grimes. Rick had said ‘I need you’ earlier, and the phrase kept echoing through Daryl’s head, but he never really elaborated. At the time it felt like Rick just needed him at his back, someone he could count on, he needed his strength and fire power and instinct. He needed a soldier. Maybe that’s what Rick meant when he had said it, too. But from the look on his face now, maybe he had meant something else. 

They were going to be fine, Daryl was convinced of that, he wasn’t worried about them. But he was confused and thrown by how _torn apart_ Rick looked in that moment. They were friends, yes, family – but he couldn’t understand why Rick was taking this so hard. That Daryl chose Merle over them, over him. He hadn’t really given Daryl a choice. And it wasn’t like they had anything special –

No matter how much Daryl had _wished_ they had.

The man had just lost his wife. Was raising a baby that probably wasn’t his, and had a whole group of people to worry about and keep alive. Daryl knew better than to breathe life into the flickers of whatever feelings caught flame over the months he had known the man. It was only ever going to be on his side, so he had stamped it out early and had honestly forgotten about it with everything that had been going on. It wasn’t until that moment when he was preparing to walk away that it resurfaced, and he entrained the thought that – maybe he was wrong, thinking it was one-sided. 

And _damn_ did the other man look good, too. Not a bad last image to hold onto: disheveled dark shirt with buttons undone, his hair long and slicked with sweat and curling at the nape of his neck, the scruff looked good on him too, outlined his mouth. But his full lips were still open in shock, waiting to form words he couldn’t bring himself to say, and those bright blue eyes. They were still striking, as clear as the morning sky, and in that moment looked _absolutely devastated_. Daryl couldn’t stand it, so he finally turned away and started up the hill where his brother was waiting.

“ _Daryl!_ ” Rick called, and _fuck_ if he didn’t sound so desperate there, but Daryl had given him his chance to say his piece – to change his mind. Or to say whatever Daryl thought was there, but maybe he had been imagining it all along and Rick just didn’t want to try to survive this fight alone. He didn’t look back at the call, in fact he didn’t look back until Merle had his arm around his shoulders and was leading him deeper into the woods. And if he hadn’t been propelling him forward, what Daryl saw would’ve made him stop in his tracks. 

Rick didn’t just look devastated anymore, or desperate.

He looked like his whole world had just fallen apart.


	3. Protection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not crazy happy with this, because I really JUST wrote it and only got to read through it once, but I have to leave for work in like 20 minutes and I'm still in my PJ's so if I want to post my Day 03 contribution ON Day 03 then I have to do it now. And my internet is being wonky so I hope this actually gets posted.
> 
> I can't seem to escape my beloved horror genre. Not so much angst, some fluff that border-lines establish relationship, but I got away from the pining! And angst! Yes I combined horror and feels, I am that talented. 
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes!

**Day 03** \- Favorite moment(s) they protected one another

\--

_s04e16 and s05e01  
Because even after all the time apart they fall right back into place, side by side again, as if they had never left. _

_The last episode of the season everyone knows what scene I’m talking about, and watching it again it is so thoroughly laid out, intense and intricate and emotional, that if I attempted to write it out I’d have a 10,000 word essay. So for this purpose I’ll be mentioning it in passing, and focusing on my favorite parts from s05e01._

_There’s a LOT of moments in this episode where they protect one another, and people forget that protection isn’t always protecting someone from danger or death, sometimes keeping them safe is protecting them from themselves. Where they’re leaning against the car after that night, covered in blood and bruises and Rick still shaking - Rick wouldn’t let Daryl think badly of himself, for taking up with the Claimers, because he knew what that would do to him, what Daryl would do to himself thinking that way. So he told him **"no, you coming back means everything, you’re my brother.”** That’s protection. Not just having his back in a fire-fight. _

_Fuck I love these boys._

\--

Rick’s knees hit the concrete, the zip-ties around his feet and hands limiting his movement they pulled his muscles so tight, and the impact ricocheted from his kneecaps through his legs and up his hips painfully. Fuck he was getting old. Daryl was brought in a second later, thrashing like an animal caught in a trap and not giving the pricks hauling them over to the trough an _inch_ of ease. They were even rougher with him than they were with Rick as they kicked out his knees to force him to the ground. 

Shit they were lining them up, this was bad. 

Tilting his head to crack his neck, Rick tried as subtly as he could to maneuver his hands so he would be able to reach the wooden shank up his pant leg. It should be sharp enough to cut through the zip-ties, but only if he didn’t get caught, and he needed a distraction so he could focus on sawing through the plastic. Once free he’d have to take out the two lining them up before he could free anyone else, unless Daryl found a way out himself. The archer was still moving next to him, contorting himself to try and see if he could break out of the thin plastic restraints, his elbow and shoulder kept bumping into Rick as he maneuvered around. 

They brought more in, putting Bob on Rick’s other side, and Bob was trying to talk through the damn gag they had tied off around his mouth. They didn’t want them talking, the sounds of electric saws and the sharp screech of metal sharpening metal echoed off of the tile walls. They were in a damn slaughter house, and they were the cattle. The meat. 

Daryl had stilled next to him, still breathing heavy and watching everything happening around them like Rick was, but he kept looking behind him and letting out this huff that was half exasperation and half frustration because _they couldn’t move._ When Rick tilted his head to see what Daryl kept looking at, he saw one of the Terminus people in a bloodstained plastic apron practicing his aim and swing with a metal baseball bat. 

Fuck.

The other men that had dragged them in left the room, just as Rick thought they would, fucking pussies couldn’t even watch their food source be slaughtered. Couldn’t actually see what they were doing. That just left the one with the baseball bat and the one sharpening his knives. Rick was still as he watched them walk past him to the other end of the line, towards the kid who he had given his watch to almost a month ago. A lifetime ago, really. He kept looking at Rick like he was going to save them, but he couldn’t let those pleading looks break through his resolve. He had family waiting for him stuck back in the train car, still struggling next to him, to worry about first. 

Every man sitting in that line had been struggling to break free, but they all grew still as the two Terminus men approached the blonde kid on the end. And watched as they struck him over the head with the bat, and slit his throat to bleed him into the trough. Bob screamed beside him, Daryl let out this pained sigh, started breathing heavier and chewing on the gag in his mouth, and Rick couldn’t help but watch the blood flow all the way down the metal trough to the drain by his head. 

All the other men were leaned forward a bit, not able to hold themselves up right from the position they were set in, except for Daryl who sat ramrod straight and still as a board. Rick caught his eye, leaning forward a bit himself, and used Daryl’s broad shoulders to mask his movements as he slowly slid the ten inch shard of wood out of his boot. Daryl didn’t even nod in approval, didn’t have to, it was a sobering and scary thought that Rick _knew_ Daryl would let them hit him over the head to give Rick the advantage of getting out of there. Was probably even mentally preparing himself for it, but that wasn’t going to happen. They were getting out, all of them.

Rick had just closed his fist around the handle when the main guy walked in, Gareth if Rick remember right, counting them up and asking about how many bullets the Terminus men had used. Their conversation stalled the slaughter right up to Glen, thank God, the young man had been ready with his teeth bared and prepared for impact. Rick was proud of him, and Daryl, who still hadn’t let up. Hadn’t moved an inch, to cover Rick’s ministrations, and hadn’t stopped pulling on his own restraints, seeming to try and use tension and his own body heat to try and snap the zip-ties around his wrists. 

Bob tried to talk to Gareth, even got him to remove the gag for a moment, but these men were emotionless – had no conscience, no appeal to reason, Rick could see that. So when he regagged Bob, and knelt down on the other side of the trough to meet Rick eye to eye, Rick knew he had to be the same. He reached over and dislodged Rick’s gag, which the ex-lawman flinched away from, jerking his head out of the way and spitting out the cloth himself, along with some blood from his mouth into the trough. Like hell that man was touching him. 

“Saw you went into the woods with a bag, and came out without it.” Really, their weapons. Scavengers, that’s what they were, lured people in and then killed them, took what was theirs and stock-piled it beyond any use they may have for them. Even had the survivors divided up, train cars indicating something like danger level probably. Train car A, Grade A meat. It was sick, and Rick didn’t blink as he stared down the other man. Who was unphased. 

Daryl was staring him down too, Rick could see out of his peripheral. Fuck this kid was stupid, anyone who Daryl looked at like that was already dead and in the ground, had to be. Rick had never seen the look on the other’s face, he didn’t even consider the Terminus kid human, just something that needed to be killed quickly. 

Like a walker.

Ignorant prick tried to use Bob as leverage to get Rick to tell him what was in the bag. He didn’t need to Rick was happy to tell him. Every gun, every knife, “a compound bow, and… a- a machete with a red handle. That’s what I’m going to use to kill you.”

And that was a fucking promise. 

\--

The explosion had been a good distraction, got Rick on his side so his attempts to saw through the zip-ties looked like struggling to get upright. The two men yelled at each other, arguing about what they should be doing – helping with whoever was hitting them or continue slaughtering the men on the floor. 

Rick didn’t give them a choice.

He stabbed the shank deep into the first one’s neck, and then charged the other before the shock could subside, aiming for his neck as well and then stabbing him in the stomach for good measure.

“Somethang’s going on, we got a chance,” Rick said as he helped cut through the other’s restraints.

“Sounded like a bomb,” Glen said once he got the gag out of his mouth.

“Sounds like a damn war.” Daryl was already up and picking through the butcher equipment laid out, testing the weight and picking one of the longer ones. 

“Who are these people!” Bob asked.

“They ain’t people,” Daryl muttered. Rick couldn’t agree more. He stopped Glen from putting a knife through their skulls. They deserved to turn.

\--

The rest of the fight through Terminus was a blood-bath. Daryl had been right, it was like a war zone, bullets like rain and nearly every building on fire. Crawling with walkers and screaming residents and clouded with smoke. 

Rick got cocky, once or twice, it was hard to keep his priorities straight when all he wanted to do was get back to the train car and get his son. Luckily Daryl was there, at his back, saved him from a walker creeping up on his six a couple of times. Daryl was always there, he never really had to doubt that the other man wouldn’t be there to help him. 

Especially after everything that had happened. Standing up to the Claimers who had tracked Rick down, taking the beating just to give them a chance to survive. Taking care of him after. The other man did so much for him he didn’t know how he would ever pay him back, except for a more biblical sense they didn’t have time for. There was never a time, it seemed. They had been tip-toeing around something back at the prison, never instigated what could have been there, but Rick cared so much about the other man it made his chest hurt. He had never trusted another person so fully before, and he hoped – if their conversation in the train car was any indication, that when this was all over and they had their family safe, they could revisit it. 

Nothing had really happened, but those few moments had meant everything.

Rick had been sawing away at a corner, and let Carl take over for him so he could go to Daryl. The man had been on watch, and Rick had seen him shifting his weight from one foot to the other like it was hurting him. He finally approached him when he was sure it was pain and not anxiety because they were trapped like rats in a cage.

“Hey,” Rick muttered, getting Daryl’s attention and taking in how the back eye on his face was steadily bruising worse. A reminder of the beating Daryl had taken, for him. For their family. “You okay?”

“M’fine,” Daryl dismissed, but Rick caught hold of his elbow before he could turn back to the small crack in between the door and the wall of the train car. Rick didn’t stare him down more than inquire with his eyes, not wanting the rest of the group to know if there was something actually wrong enough to put the archer out of commission. “Said I w’s fine.”

“I know yer fine,” Rick teased, letting his gaze travel up and down to emphasize, making Daryl scoff embarrassedly. “But are you okay? Ribs look like they hurt.”

“Fuckers jus’ kick hard, ‘m good.”

“They bruised?”

Daryl just squinted at him, Rick knew he was trying the man’s patience but he honestly needed to know. Wanted to know. Daryl always had his back, he wanted to make sure he could do the same. 

“Maybe, nothin’ I can’t handle.” Rick sighed at his answer, but at least he knew now. He leaned in, brushing his shoulder with the archer as he too looked out at the surrounding area. “We’re gettin’ outta here,” Daryl reminded him.

“I know.” The lot was as empty as it had been the past few hours, but it felt good to feel Daryl pressed all along one side of him. Solid and real and breathing. Rick had to keep reminding himself that Daryl was actually there, and not dead as he had believed the past few weeks after the prison fell. He was there, and they were getting out of this hell-hole. Together he and Daryl had a strength Rick had never thought he could possess, the moved like one person and together they could get their family out of Terminus. They were going to make it out. They were going to be _fine_.

\--

Daryl couldn’t imagine what it must have looked like to everyone in the train car when they finally returned, stuck in the dark and isolation only to have Rick slam the door open and shout at them to run for the fence in a blaze of gunfire and walkers. The man looked like a damn God of War, like one of those action heroes from the movies, covered in dust and blood with his arms full of a heavy military-grade automatic and a smoke-filled backdrop to complete the picture. It was his element, sad to say, the chaos and fire and destruction, he moved through it seamlessly and without hesitation.

It was terrifying and insanely inspiring at the same time. 

They got up and over the fence and back to where they stashed their weapons in no time. Daryl was ready to run, put as much distance as he could between his family and the burning buildings of Terminus. But then Rick started talking about lining up along the fences, taking out the survivors trying to scatter from the flames. The big dude with the handlebar mustache was right, they didn’t have time for this, but Daryl could see in Rick’s eyes the _rage_. He needed to spill more blood, these people had transgressed far beyond anything Rick could forgive, and he wanted every single person in that town to suffer for it.

When he turned to Daryl for his opinion, after everyone else turned him down, Daryl didn’t know what to say. He leaned against a tree, chewing his lip into mince meat in nervousness, he didn’t want to side with Rick. But Rick knew people better than any of them, there might have been a rational part of him that thought the survivors would cause trouble for them later. He had always believed in Rick’s judgment, never really doubted him before. But this just didn’t feel right.

Then there was a snap of twigs to behind him, and he snapped his gaze over thinking it _was_ a Terminus survivor here for revenge. But instead-

He might have stopped breathing. Daryl ran to Carol, threw his arms around her and pulled her close. Holy shit - she was okay, she was alive. He knew he was probably hurting her hugging her so hard, but she didn’t seem to care if the half sob-half giggle that escaped her was any indication. He had even lifted her off her feet at one point. Holy _shit_. Carol was okay. He set her down and looked at her, and realized he couldn’t breathe because he was about to start crying. He buried his head in her shoulder to hide it, but she knew anyway because she was crying too. 

The crunch of leaves behind him reminded him they weren’t alone, and he saw Rick coming up with this broken and awed expression on his face. A complete contrast to the mask of death and rage he’d been wearing the past 24 hours.

“Did you do that?” Carol nodded and then he was hugging her too, shattering the mold of the God of War Daryl had been admiring and fearful of during their escape from Terminus. His face broke into this sad and regretful smile, and there he was, Daryl could finally see the man he had fallen in love with start to fall back into place.

“You have to come with me.”

\--

When they approached the cabin, the first thing Daryl saw was Tyreese. Then he saw the small person he was holding on to, and he couldn’t help the winded sound that escaped him.

Judith.

Rick dropped what he was carrying and broke into a run, barely stopping short of the giant man before he was gathering his baby girl in his arms. He was sobbing and Judith started wailing and Carl couldn’t stop touching her, and the whole picture made Daryl smile. It was like a giant weight was lifted off his shoulders, the worry and fear and the horror they had witnessed at Terminus all faded away. He could finally breathe freely again because – _yes_ – they were going to be _fine_. All of them.


	4. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got carried away. Surprise, surprise. But I'm so excited about this installment, no matter how nervous I am that I kinda/sorta wrote porn. It's at the end and there's a line break that says Bonus for those who don't want to read it. But what happens in that part has happened to me, and ever since I saw the stomach pat Daryl does to Rick in s04e01 that's all I thought of. I was mortified because my boyfriend at the time laughed at me too, but it's all in fun. 
> 
> So lots of language, tooth-rotting fluff, and sex at the end. B/c it's Rickyl week, I had to give you all smut.

**Day 04** \- Favorite touch(es)

\--

_Stomach Pat – because Lori use to do the same thing._

_Really ALL THE TOUCHES are what I love, because Daryl is so adverse to people touching him, but he goes out of his way to touch Rick. The smallest things, and I love it. My two favorites are for sure the stomach pat in s04e01 when Daryl is getting ready to leave for his run, and at the end of s05e01 after they find Judith. They’re getting ready to leave, and you see Rick and Daryl talking about something, and Daryl grabs Rick’s arm, runs his hand UP his arm, and when they part I’m sure he runs it back down but Carol and Tyreese have a moment on screen that blocks it out._

_But I just love the stomach pat, because we see Lori do something very similar a few times in seasons one and two, and that touch is just so domestic it makes my heart hurt. I love it so much. That comparison is my ENTIRE headcannon for Rick and Daryl, they’re basically an old married couple._

\--

Lori used to do it because he had started to gain a little beer belly. Back before the world ended. 

Too many late nights with Shane and the guys from the station, splitting pitchers of beer at the main bar in their little one-horse town and playing darts until the early hours of the morning. But Rick hadn’t been able to keep off all those carbs like Shane could, didn’t live at the gym like his best friend use to, just barely made it the few times the other man had dragged him along. And he usually just ended up spotting him as they chatted while Shane lifted twice his body weight on the bench press. No, he had a family, a wife who stayed at home with their baby boy all day. So when he wasn’t working, or with Shane, he was home taking some of the over-bearing stress off of her. So his midsection had gotten a little soft, and for whatever reason Lori’s touch just gravitated towards that spot.

Then he had gotten shot, and Rick had woken up to his whole world turned upside down. He had been asleep for months, and left unattended for who knew how long, alone in that hospital room. The coma had shed all the excess stomach fat, turned him thin and frail, shaking on unsteady legs like a newborn colt as he tried to escape from the charred building. Barely able to walk on muscles that hadn’t been used in a long time, with an infected bullet wound in his side. He’s still surprised he survived those first few days.

But he did, and he got very good at surviving. The apocalypse made him lean and strong, tough muscle stretched over hard bone and barely anything else. Nothing vulnerable or soft on him. It was probably the first time in his life he could look down at himself and see the creases in his skin cutting around his abdominal muscles. He use to envy Shane’s six pack, but he never thought he’d have abs like the ones he sported now.

He had nothing on Daryl, though.

Daryl had had a soft beer gut of his own, juxtaposing the muscles in his arms, when they were camped on the outskirts of Atlanta. Spending every day drinking and doing absolutely nothing with his brother for 15 years would do that to a person. Even back on the Greene farm he’d still been a little rounded through the heavy jackets and flannel shirts. But after months on the road, starving all winter, fighting walkers with knives and lead pipes, and hunting with that crossbow day and night, he had changed very rapidly. Rick was surprised when he shed the layers of clothing with the seasons to reveal a flat, toned stomach and arms like tree trunks. The man was muscle caked on top of muscle, whippet thin and broad shouldered. The two, like their family, had become hard and lean and fierce during their fight for survival. 

They all looked damn good, actually. Who thought that Rick would look the best he ever had after the world ended.

But back on topic, Lori use to pat his stomach as they parted ways. A soft, gentle touch that spoke volumes of their comfort and domesticity. As much as she probably wished he had been stacked like Shane, the softness was a reminder of what they had. That and she loved to tease him about it.

The first time Daryl did the same thing he had been scanning Rick for bites and scratches, hands hot and fast like brands burning through Rick’s clothes as the hunter pulled him this way and that to check all angles. It had been a close call, the herd appearing out of nowhere, cornering them and forcing the group to fight their way out. Rick had been surrounded at one point towards the end, and had to muscle his way through the wall of corpses, hoping his thick leather jacket would save him from their clawing hands. 

Unfortunately, Daryl had seen the whole thing. And he had been _pissed._

And scared.

As soon as the group had gotten behind secured doors Daryl had grabbed him. Hard. And started tearing at his clothes, inspecting every inch of skin that could have been in reach for the walkers. He hadn’t even stopped to catch his breath, panting for air as he worked, and little breathy whimpers escaped him with each exhale that he would deny for the rest of his life. 

Though Rick would remember them for many nights to come, when he was alone in his bunk - with just his hand.

But as soon as the archer was satisfied, had inspected every inch that could’ve been infected, he sighed. Nodded to himself, as if to reassure that Rick was indeed fine.

“I’m good?” Rick asked quietly, so the others couldn’t hear him. Because between the adrenaline and the still residual fear and the feeling of Daryl’s hands grasping his shoulders, Rick couldn’t have told you if a walker had still been attached to his leg. 

Daryl grunted affirmatively, and noticing he still had his hands on their leader, reluctantly let go – the stuttered action making his hands slide down the leather sleeves before entirely leaving him.

It was more of an after thought, an animal instinct to touch the soft underbelly of his otherwise durable and strong leader, before leaving to check on the others. To feel the one place that was always vulnerable, just in case. A quick pat, barely felt though the layers of thick clothing, but to Rick it felt like a punch to the gut. Because it reminded him of Lori, something so gentle and loving in a gesture, given to him by his best friend – and a man no less. But that strong sense of _family_ coursed through him like wildfire, surged through his veins until he thought his heart was going to explode in his chest. It had been a long time since Rick had felt that much, felt something as _strong_ as the feeling of love that hit him like a gunshot to the chest. 

The profound feeling of meaning something to someone, who didn’t owe you anything, and you feeling the same way if not more. Rick stared after the archer, dumbfounded and struck with so much feeling it made his whole body numb. He needed to check on the others, get the group and supplies back to the prison, back to his kids and his duties there, push aside the adrenaline that was bursting from the seams and making his blood boil as it rushed in all directions.

Including South.

Now was not the time to think about how hard it had been for Daryl to let go of him, how his arms tensed and locked up like he wanted to punch Rick in the face for doing something so stupid or pull him in close and – 

Nope, now was not the time to think like that. They still had to get back home. 

Back to their family.

\--

It soon became a regular thing, the small pats from the archer as they parted ways. Which morphed into him grabbing his elbow to stop Rick from walking if Daryl needed his attention, stepping into his space to keep comments from being over heard, squeezing his shoulder, hand sliding along his side as he passed. Any reason for the archer to touch him he soon started to, especially once Rick stopped going on runs at the prison, after the Woodbury people joined them and Rick started the extensive vegetable garden down on the grounds. 

He did it so fluidly, so un-stuttered and comfortably that it was easily mistaken for that animal instinct again. To check the vulnerable spots, a physical reminder that Rick was in one piece. And Rick clung to those few moment, used them as an anchor when Daryl would leave for days at a time hunting or on a run miles from the prison. It was their routine, check in with each other, holding on to each other somewhere as they briefed the other on what was going to happen, what had happened when they returned, plans and “shopping lists” as Daryl called them and whatever else they could think of.

It took a while for them to notice those were all just excuses. 

\--

Daryl had been about to go on a run by himself, just down the road to a small town that might’ve had a store that wasn’t completely raided, to see if there was some unexpired children’s medicine for Judith. The small baby had come down with a fever, and Rick was steadily pacing his cell with the wailing infant when Daryl had stopped by to say good-bye briefly before leaving. Rick had been through this multiple times with Carl when he was a baby, but it was no less nerve-wracking to have your baby crying because they felt awful and red in the face from exertion and fever and there’s nothing you can do to make them feel better. Daryl had stopped his pacing by touching his elbow, halting his movements and bringing the ex-lawman closer to him. 

“She’s gonna be alright,” Daryl tried to tell him, and Rick sighed at his friend’s reasoning. He was right, he knew; too much had happened to him, they couldn’t take his little girl away too. With the sigh, he leaned the one shoulder facing Daryl into the man’s chest, and he’d be surprised at himself later but in that moment he was just exhausted from staying up all night with the crying baby and he needed the other man’s support. “’m gonna check ou’ tha’ CVS in Liberty, might be somethin’ there fer her.” Rick nodded gratefully.

“You be careful out there,” he told the hunter tiredly. 

With an amused huff, Daryl had squeezed his hip before preparing to move towards the door. “Always am.” Rick had made the mistake of looking up at him in that moment, catching his pale blue eyes with his own, and all the air seemed to escape from the room. Even Judith had stopped crying and had settled to pathetic sniffles, the archer always calmed her down, she adored him just as much as Rick did. It was so domestic, so intimate in the small enclosed bubble of Rick’s cell, that it just seemed natural for him to lean forward and press his lips to Daryl’s before the hunter left on his run.

It was quick, because he realized what he did as soon as he had pulled away, his tired brain finally catching up with him, and his surprise must have mirrored the look on the archer’s face. But it hadn’t felt awkward, or like he had stepped over some line that wasn’t meant to be crossed, in fact a small part of him was relieved – _finally._ “Come back safe.” The younger man nodded, seeming to have lost his voice, but before he slipped out of the room his hand had patted Rick’s stomach as he left the other’s space. And Rick couldn’t help the small smile on his face.

That had been three days ago.

\--

The car was loaded and Rick was about to crawl out of his _skin_ with anxiety, what was taking Glen so damn long. Michonne had returned the day before from beyond the gates, and when she saw Rick rooted to the fence-line killing walker after walker brutally with a sharpened broom handle she knew something was wrong. She was the only one that agreed that Rick should leave the prison, that they should’ve left to look for Daryl the next day _like Rick had said_ instead of waiting around to see if he showed up on his own. The gun belt felt heavy on his hips after being absent for so long, but it put him back in the right mind set, he expected that whatever had stalled the archer this long was not going to be pleasant to drive into. 

As soon as the Korean man came into view Rick was already climbing into the driver’s seat of the old sedan and turning over the engine. The sooner they found Daryl the sooner his heart would start beating normally again, that man was going to be the death of him one way or another. Michonne was giving him little looks out of the corner of her eye, probably taking in his set jaw and the death grip on the steering wheel, or whatever else was giving away Rick’s emotional state. He was fucking worried, luckily the woman was smart enough not to say anything about it, because after three days of no sign from the hunter there was no way “he’s probably okay” could even be an option. 

Rick had been ready to peel out of the prison, was already making his way through the yards and towards the fences, but Sasha and Tyreese had been on watch in the front guard towers – and they had the gates open. Rick was out of the car almost before he put it in park, running towards the figure Tyreese was practically dragging through the gates. “IS HE BIT!?” Rick screamed, barely stopping short enough to not run into the two men. 

“Can’t tell,” the larger man said honestly.

“We need to get him inside,” Sasha reasoned with Rick, who wasn’t sure if he was breathing anymore. Daryl looked ready to pass out, and there was blood all down one side of his face and torso, soaking into the top part of his pants and smeared across the rest of his clothes. It looked like his own. They used the car to get him up to their cell block as quickly as possible, and ended up carrying the wounded man into the infirmary. 

It had been one of the longest hours of Rick’s life. They had to inspect him first, make sure there were no bites or scratches anywhere, and find the source of the bleeding; the man had once scaled a cliff and walked five miles to get back to the Greene farm with an arrow wound in his side. His durability was not the problem in this situation, the problem was that they couldn’t find the source of the blood. Just a large amount of scrapes and dried blood on his chest and side. 

Daryl jolted awake half-way through the inspection, flinching from Dr. S wiping away blood from his chest and scrambling upright on the bed. “Careful, _careful_ ,” Dr. S tried to soothe, hands up like trying not to spook an animal. “We’re just trying to find where your bleeding from.”

“M’fine,” Daryl snapped, but his limbs still moved sluggishly and the muscles trembled every now and then. “Fuckin’ thirsty.” Carol had water ready and waiting for him, and Rick had enough self control to let him drink instead of hitting him.

“What happened,” he ground out, because if Daryl wasn’t bit and wasn’t hurt why the HELL did it take three days for him to come back, and why did he basically collapse at the gates?

“My pack,” was the only answer he got in between the hunter draining the water bottle handed to him, and Rick’s anger was steadily replacing his worry, so he dug his own fingers into his side harshly and let Glen dig through Daryl’s bag. Of course, what he fished out made Rick feel like an asshole, because Daryl had found the fucking baby Motrin. “Crashed the bike, had ta get back. Lil Asskicker okay?” Rick was focusing on breathing steadily through his nose, because he wasn’t sure if he was going to yell or hit something or start crying or launch himself at the other man – Goddamnit. Carol explained to Daryl when Rick wasn’t answering that Judith was fine and her fever broke the night before last, then she shooed everyone out but Dr. S and Rick. Dr. S had found the source of the bleeding, some scrapes beneath the coated blood and a head wound hidden beneath Daryl’s hair line. 

“You really scared him,” he heard Carol say quietly, though she probably thought it was quiet enough Rick wouldn’t catch it. Daryl was watching him, and his eyes kept straying to the gun on his hip. It hadn’t been there in a long time. “They were just getting ready to go out and look for you.”

“Didn’ need ta do that.”

“You were gone for three days, Daryl,” Carol said lowly, and Rick wasn’t looking away from those pale blue eyes locked with his own. “You should be glad they didn’t leave sooner, Rick wanted to go the next morning.”

“Always come back, don’ I?” That was directed at Rick, who nodded but still didn’t speak. His anger was fizzling away slowly the longer Carol took, which was probably for the best. But there was a limit to Rick’s patience.

“Carol,” Rick finally croaked out, finding his voice stuck in his throat. “Give us a minute.” She nodded, gathering her supplies, and let her hand rest on Rick’s shoulder as she passed by. The whole group had turned tactile as soon as Daryl had started opening up to touch as well, their close-knit family more prominent within the community at the prison. But what Rick and Daryl had was just between them, and everyone recognized that. 

Rick had to clear his throat before he could start, and his gaze had landed on the children’s Motrin still laid on top of Daryl’s pack. “Thank you-“

Daryl scoffed. “Took too long, no use now-“

“-for coming back,” Rick finished. “Thought I said in one piece, though.” Daryl looked insanely surprised at the teasing tone, though Rick couldn’t find it in himself to smile. He was too drained. 

“…thought you were mad.”

“I was,” Rick answered. “More scared than mad. Now – I’m just glad you’re okay.” Daryl was staring at him, confused and still a little weary, he had been ready for a fight. “You need to rest, ya lost a lot of blood.” Realization seemed to dawn on Daryl’s face, and he let out a sigh through his nose, though Rick wasn’t sure what he had just thought of. He had been standing in the same spot the entire time, even when the room had been full of people, not ready to leave but not ready to approach his friend. Now it was just getting awkward. “I’ll leave ya to it-“

“Will you jus’ get over here,” Daryl all but glared at him, shifting his weight on the bed to make room. “Fer shit’s sake.” 

Once he was in the other’s space again, Rick couldn’t stop himself from pulling the other into a searing kiss. It was quick lived, but not before the hunter responded in kind, licking into his mouth past the seam of his lips. They ended up falling asleep tangled up together, and for some reason Daryl always had his hand splayed across Rick’s stomach. 

Animal instinct, indeed.

\--BONUS--

The first time Daryl patted his stomach after sex, Rick had burst out laughing.

In his bunk, stripped bare with the heat of the Georgia summer slicking sweat over their skin and making everything stick to the sheets. Most everyone was outside, the hunter had dragged back a decent sized buck earlier that day, and all the ex-soccer moms and other Woodbury folk decided they wanted a barbeque, which left their cell block completely empty. 

Rick could never get tired of the image of Daryl splayed beneath him, panting for breath with his mouth wide open, hair fanned out on the bed with a few bangs stuck to his face, red flush in his cheek spread down his neck and across his broad chest. The man arched and moaned, moving his hips in time with Rick’s _hedonistic_ roll of his own, as he arched against Daryl’s cock brushing against that _one spot_ deep inside him. It was like there wasn’t enough air to breath, everything was hot and slick and wet and the soft breathy moans that poured out of Daryl’s mouth were _delicious_. And when he came he arched so high off the bed he moved Rick with him, driving himself so deep and hard against Rick’s prostate it punched his orgasm out of him. A fireworks display behind his eyes and a cry from his lips that might have been Daryl’s name. 

They had been going at it a while, practically tore each other’s clothes off when they first entered the cell, and they had started hard and fast and kept the momentum pulsating between agonizingly slow to rushed and quick until they were just about to topple over the edge. God it was tiring, but worth it. Exhausted, Rick had fallen to the bed beside Daryl once he pulled himself off his cock, both men panting for breath as they came down from the intense high. It was totally an accident, but Daryl abortedly reached over for him, hand finding his heaving stomach – like he always did – and patted it twice while the words slipped from his mouth. “That was good.” The burst of laughter that escaped Rick was so loud and harsh it almost hurt, and the smile that was on his face widened so much it bared his teeth.

“D-did you just –“ he couldn’t even get the words out, and Daryl only looked confused for a second before he thought about what he did. “You just- you just ‘good game’ patted my-“ Then Daryl was trying to get up. “No! No I’m sorry,” but Rick couldn’t stop laughing, grabbing onto the embarrassed archer and burying his face into the junction of his neck and shoulder to try and hide his wide smile.

“It wasn’-“

“I know, I know,” Rick heaved to try and calm himself down, still smiling at the other. He rested his chin over the other’s shoulder, letting him sulk for a minute, but not able to keep the list of his lips off his face. Or stop himself from giving a short pat to Daryl's stomach in return. “Good job.”

“Yer an asshole.”


	5. Heartbreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the saddest playlist going for this chapter, so alternatively I would call this chapter "don't tell me if I'm dying".
> 
> This was hard to write after the fluff and sex from last chapter, but I got it out. I don't think I got anything jumbled up, as far as time lines go, so I've got my fingers crossed. 
> 
> Lanugage, angst like woah, and assumed character death. And Daryl being a jackass, because he's a dick when he drinks.

**Day 05** – most heartbreaking moment(s)

\--

_Arguing with Beth in s04e12: Still_

_When I first watched this episode, I couldn’t tell right away that Daryl was still mourning. It was obvious in s04e10 when they were by the campfire and Daryl didn’t even respond to her besides shifting his eyes between Beth and the flames. It became more clear as the episode went along, because they were focusing less and less on surviving and more on Beth’s task of finding alcohol. But then that argument happened, and it all just fell into place. That entire monologue Daryl screamed in her face (which WOW Daryl never talks that much, no matter what anyone says about their relationship Beth means something to him for him to open up that much) just broke my heart. All he had to do was say Rick’s name, and then the anger and the distance and the distractions all made sense. Daryl laid it out that they had lost everything, the only family and home he was ever proud of was up in flames, and it was destroying him inside._

_So let him fucking mourn. There’s no funerals to attend this time._

\--

Daryl had never really wanted to lay down and die before.

Didn’t know how, if he was being honest.

That’s probably why he was still breathing. 

That, and Beth.

There had been walkers everywhere, almost everyone had gotten out of the prison, and there was still smoke and flames clouding the sky from the guard tower and the tank he had blown up. Beth had come running up, talking up finding the kids to get them on the bus, but they had to leave before they got blocked in. Daryl led her through the break in the fence out into the forest, he had just gone in the wrong fucking direction. Because most of the walkers had followed them. He had still been running on adrenaline, and anger, and the need to make something _bleed_ because he felt torn open and ripped apart. Pushing out the thoughts of what happened to Hershel, the sound of Maggie screaming – of _Rick_ screaming. Fuck, Rick had gone down too, out in the field when the Governor and his people broke through the gates, between him and that one-eyed asshole Daryl knew Rick would come out on top. But hours later, as he and Beth were running from the herd, he would beat himself up for not going back – to make sure Rick got out okay too, to make sure he did win that fight.

Because as each day passed, and the two of them spent the entire time running from the relentless wave after wave of walkers drawn by the prison, Daryl didn’t see any signs of anyone else. No tracks, no burnt out fires, no abandoned cars, no bullet holes in trees to show they were even still _fighting_. And all he and Beth were doing were running, running until they collapsed, until the air in their lungs burned like fire. Like the fire that destroyed their home. 

It was then he knew everyone was dead.

Every last one of them. Not just the people from Woodbury, who were old and frail, or too young to really escape if that bus didn’t make it, but _his_ people too. With what happened to Hershel, and Glenn still too sick to stand or run – _fuck_ , he’d never have made it outside on his own, and was Maggie in her right mind after all that? Could she have gotten her and her husband out? Carl had gone to find Judith, and Daryl didn’t want to even think of the baby girl, the one who looked up at him with big blue eyes (that were so _Rick_ there was no way she wasn’t his) like he hung the damn moon. No one had ever looked at him like that before, except for Carol on occasion, and Rick.

Daryl did his best when they were running to not think of Rick, but after he had gotten the fire up the first night it was safe to do so, caught a Diamondback rattler to feed them, and everything quieted down as night fell – there was nothing else to distract him. He’d been on autopilot the past few days, and how sad was it that his autopilot was how to build a damn fire and trap and skin a rattlesnake. 

Staring into the low burning embers, with Beth trying to talk to him, he couldn’t bring himself to care. About anything. All he could see was the prison in flames, Hershel trying to convey with his eyes and a smile that this wasn’t Rick’s fault before the Governor brought Michonne’s sword down– 

And Rick, Daryl kept playing that scene out over and over in his head. He had seen him go down, _he had_ – every inch of him wished that Rick had gotten out somehow, the fucker was a stubborn bastard that always seemed to stand back up after the world knocked him down. Time and time again, so yes he could’ve made it. But Daryl and Beth had run for miles, and even if Rick had made it out alive – Daryl was never going to see him again.

That, or he was probably dead.

…what if he turned? Because Daryl didn’t go back to try and find him?

What if he died bleeding out in that field because _no one_ went back for him.

What if Carl had to shoot his father in the head too.

Daryl couldn’t move, could barely look up at Beth, who hadn’t stopped _talking_ the whole time. The words were warbled in his ears, he couldn’t really pay attention, but the tone sounded accusing. He was used to that, expected that, he had been blaming himself for days. She finally stood up, gestures all anger and frustration, shit she was about to go off and do something stupid. Sure enough, she stomped out of their little camp, and it took a moment for that to register. With a sigh, a breath of air he didn’t want in his lungs, Daryl stood up and kicked dirt into the embers. Snuffing out the light before following after her, but it took putting himself back on autopilot to do so. He couldn’t let her down too, no matter how hard it was to pick up his feet.

God, he wanted to die.

\--

Beth had wanted to track the survivors, because he was a _tracker_ and that’s what he does, and all that led to was the tracks of dead kids. A small ray of hope snuffed out, just like everything else. Maybe now she understood why he didn’t go looking in the first place, he didn’t want to know, it was too late. 

Now, Beth wanted to find a drink.

Who the fuck looks for alcohol this far into the apocalypse?

And as much as he tried to help her, to distract himself and move on, it only made things worse. They go from a place he would’ve never _touched_ growing up, a run-down country club full of dead rich people, to something so similar to his childhood home that it awakens things from his past. Things he thought he had buried deep, memories and a personality he had tried to smother a long time ago. Back when they had been trying to survive on the road during the winter Lori was pregnant. He had done everything he could to keep the group alive, his family, and Rick – Rick was more of an inspiration to him than the other man would ever know. Especially now. Daryl had wanted to be better, wanted Rick to see him being better, actually trying and giving a crap.

Look where that got him.

In a place his Pa would’ve called a vacation home, and it was still a run-down piece of shit, dragging back memories of shouting and beatings and getting so drunk he’d helped contributed to the vomit stains on the carpet. The fights, the bruises, the drugs, the endless days of his father sitting like a lump in that _fucking_ arm chair and Daryl ducking out the back door to get lost in the woods and wondering if he never came back would they even notice? Merle would, and the asshole had dragged him back more than once, shoved a jar of moonshine in his chest and told him to drink it off – whether he was 10, 16, or 23. Same story, different day.

So with Merle’s voice echoing in his ears, he slid a jar of moonshine across the table to Beth, who should’ve never stepped foot in a house like this, and then fell into an arm chair _just like his Pa’s_ and could feel his old life seeping back into his bones.

It was something to fill the emptiness left behind by Rick and the prison and his dead family.

\--

He knew he was drunk, or getting there. Knew the anger building within him was going to be harmful to the one person who still gave a crap about him, who was the only one in the firing range when it finally bubbled over and he exploded. Because all he could think about was – he never got to say good-bye.

It was a dumb thought, but the liquor burning through his veins kept it playing like a broken record.

Daryl did not give a _fuck_ about nostalgia. Never had a reason to miss anything from his past, never had anything good enough to miss. No ‘Good Old Days’ for him, nope. Nothing good for him.

Except for Rick.

 _God_ , Rick. 

The drinking game had been a bad idea, he had tried at first he really did. But moonshine burns hard and fast, slips past your lips and then sets your insides on fire, and hits _hard_. Drunk before you can even think it. 

How could she be thinking about _any_ of this right now? “Never have I ever” – No, he’d never left the state of Georgia. And _no_ , he’d never been in jail you self-righteous bitch. Never had Christmas, or presents, or parents that gave a shit about him. Never shot a cross-bow? Well _fine_ , let’s fix that. She wanted distractions _she was going to fucking get them._

Everything outside became a blur, he had pinned a walker to the wall of the house and had dragged Beth over to hold the cross-bow. Was she having _fucking_ fun yet? He pinned her to his chest and shot the walker full of arrows, and was 100% ready to pull them out and do it _all over again_ because they were supposed to be having _fun_ right? Beth was screaming at him and he was hollering back, then she put a knife through the walker’s skull and told him to stop being a jackass. 

“I want you to stop acting like you don’t give a crap about anything!” She thought he didn’t care? “Like nothing we went though _matters_! Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you! It’s _bullshit!_ ” She thought – she thought he was acting like they didn’t matter. Of _course_ they mattered! They were just DEAD!

“That’ what you think?”

“That’s what I know.”

“ _You don’t kno’ nothin’!_ ” Fuck her, she didn’t get it! Everyone was GONE, _Rick_ was GONE! _Rick._

Rick fucking mattered to him, meant something to him. Meant _everything_ to him.

And now he was gone.

And as Beth listed off all the people she was not, besides another “dead girl” – and part of him felt guilty, because that was what he saw – every name was like a bullet to the chest. Michonne. Carol. Maggie. “I’m not like you or them, and you don’t get to treat me like crap because you’re afraid.”

Afraid?

The alcohol still blurred his senses, but he knew he got up in her face when he seethed “I ain’t afraid of nothin’.” There was nothing else to be afraid of, everything that mattered was gone.

She continued to drag up shit, Sophia coming out of the barn, how it had torn him apart to see her stumbling into the light. He had searched Heaven and Earth for that little girl, just another fucking failure on his list of all the shit he couldn’t do right. And she was bitching he wasn’t letting her get too _close?_

He’d let Rick too close, and now his chest was ripped open and bleeding. 

“Close? You know all about that, huh? You lost two boyfriends you can’t even shed a tear!”

All Daryl wanted to do was ball his eyes out.

Anger was easier.

“You’re whole family is gone, an’ all you can do is go lookin’ for hooch like some dumb college bitch!”

“Screw you, ya don’t get it.”

“No YOU DON’T GET IT! EVERYONE YOU KNOW IS DEAD!” Every _single_ one of them. 

“You don’t know that!”

“Might as well be, ‘cause you ain’t never gonna see them again!”

Daryl was just lashing out everything he’d been yelling at himself the past few days. Beth’s words were true, her reasoning was right, but Daryl had already been through all of this. He was never going to see his family again, the people who had accepted him as family, and where the hell was he ever going to get that again? He was just some jackass redneck that people wanted to shoot in the head _before_ the world ended, and now all he had was _Beth._

_You ain’t never gonna see them again._

“Rick,” and the name was torn from his throat. It sounded so broken, so heart-wrenching even to himself he couldn’t stand it. “You ain’t never gonna see Maggie again!” Deflect, like he always did.

“Daryl stop it!” Beth said, because she saw it too. What he’d been trying to hide, she reached for him and Daryl wrenched himself out of her soft hands. 

“No!” _Stop touching me!_ He didn’t want to be touched, or hugged, FUCK. Tears started to burn hot and fast like a flash flood, filling his eyes until he couldn’t see anymore.

_FUCK!_

He wasn’t sure what he blubbered out, probably everything that was flashing in front of his eyes. Rick, he had to go down there alone – when the Governor rolled up, _right up to their gates._ In a fucking tank, what were they supposed to do? He and Michonne shouldn’t have stopped looking for him, if they had found him and killed him like they planned then none of this would have happened. It was all his fault. “That’s on me.”

“Daryl,” she grabbed at his arm again.

“No.” He ripped out of her grip again. _Fuck, stop touching me!_ “And your Dad…” His voice was cracking now, fuck he felt like he was falling apart. Like he would shatter into little pieces with just a gust of wind. 

“M-Maybe I could’ve done somethin’.” Then Beth launched herself at his back and she was holding on to him, as tightly as she could, pressing her face into his back. It was the last straw, and he couldn’t hold everything back anymore. Beth let him cry, bless her, squeezed tighter when sobs wracked his shoulders and tore from his throat. 

He never got to fucking say good-bye.

Never got to say anything he wanted to.

And now it was too late.

Because Rick was dead.

“I-I never got’ta-“ he couldn’t even talk by that point.

“He knew,” Beth said into his back, because _of course_ she knew.

He hoped Rick knew too.

_I fucking loved him._


	6. Quotes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **EDIT:** So... I don't know what I just wrote. But I like it, I'm glad some of you do too. It's long as fuck, so long I didn't get to post it before work. And then we were busy at work because it's _Friday_ and I didn't have time to reread and finish WRITING it on my phone until literally 11pm. So this is just barely on time, and it can get really confusing with the time jumps and quotes and stuff, and I feel they are a little OOC even though I tried really hard to keep them in character. But after rereading some bits and changing a few things in here I like it. So here is what I have for you.
> 
> Warnings are language that gets offensive, violence, angst, and sex at the end again. Because how could I not? Also I was told I need to write more smut, this is really rushed and not full-on sex so I apologize. Its just really awkward to write sex on your phone at work, I do not recommend it.

**Day 06** - Favorite quote(s)

\--

_“Grab your friend Rick’s hand.”_

\--

_So this is a strange interpretation I know, but I remember a tumblr post (that I will try to locate) from a while ago that compared everything Merle says when Daryl is hallucinating in s02e05 to actual moments where Rick proves every statement wrong. I love that comparison. The contrast between the family Daryl has always known and the family he has found. And Rick, especially._

_I feel bad because it’s not my original idea, but when anyone asks my favorite quote about Rick and Daryl this is always the first one that comes to mind. It’s actually Merle’s quote, my answer, when he’s laughing and taunting/encouraging Daryl to climb the cliff face. And he ends with “Grab your friend Rick’s hand.” And that statement is what pushes Daryl to the top. I didn’t recognize it for what it was the first time I watched that scene, but it resonates now when I rewatch it. Resonates so profoundly, I honestly couldn’t think of a different answer than that one. It just means too much to me._

_\--_

_Tumblr post:<http://fuckyeahrickyl.tumblr.com/post/83131912826/where-rick-has-tackled-all-of-daryls>_

\--

The downside to growing up with a brother like Merle, besides the obvious – he’s a jackass, who was opinionated beyond reason and did not know how to keep his mouth shut - was that he never shut up. Not in public, not at home, not out in the woods. He talked endlessly, about everything and nothing, half of it wasn’t even true, and less than half of it wasn’t even funny. He was just a redneck asshole, and Daryl loved him anyway.

Daryl, on the other hand, never really spoke. Merle did all the talking for the both of them anyway. He guessed that made them both redneck assholes, the infamous Dixon brothers. But Daryl discovered very early on that he had a knack for remembering pretty much anything anyone said, and could recite them – verbatim. Merle was usually too high to recognize he knew what someone said word for word from two years ago, but when he did it was some of the few times Merle actually shut his mouth. And after the endless stream of conscious thought pouring from the other’s mouth, unfiltered and unapologetic, the silence was actually nerve-wracking, so Daryl learned to just keep his mouth shut. His brother was better at talking than him, anyway.

But then Merle was gone, cut his own hand off on a rooftop in Atlanta and Daryl was left to fend for himself. Speak for himself. What little he could always ended up being someone else’s words. His brother’s rage, a teacher’s wisdom, quotes from television or movies, snark and sarcasm from people-watching at the bar, it was hard to find his own voice when all that had been repeating in his head for years was other people’s words and his brother’s monologues. But eventually he did, found a good blend of his own ideas and all the things he could remember, and the group even seemed to like him for it.

But Merle’s words continued to echo through his head, _all the time_. Little ‘words o wisd’m’ that made him snort in laughter to himself, or clench his teeth in anger. Because he wasn’t so close-minded anymore, not like he used to be stuck with his brother 24/7, but the words still came rushing back to the surface every now and then.

However, the one speech that echoed the most, besides the “Dixon’s don’t raise no fags” speech with guest appearances from his Pa and Uncle Jess, was one he knew didn’t really happen. Because he had started hearing it before he found Merle in Woodbury, but after his brother got left in Atlanta. And the words were all about Rick.

His brother hadn’t _met_ Rick until Atlanta.

It mostly echoed through the winter before they found the prison, skittering from house to house in the towns surrounding the prison but always getting blocked off by herds of walkers. He was surprised they hadn’t found it sooner, but that was all just bad luck on their part, and uncreative thinking until Rick laid eyes on it and got _inspired_. Or whatever. His blue eyes had lighten up like it was Christmas and Jesus himself had descended from the sky to gift it to them. The place they would ultimately call home. And no, Daryl did _not_ get distracted by those blue eyes lighting up for the first time in months, nope. Not at all. He was not staring at that stupid, gorgeous face.

_“-you had any damn nuts in that sack of yours, you’d go back there and shoot your pal Rick in the face for me.”_

His brother’s voice was always a good reality check, brought him back to the present, when he started to lose himself. Started believing he was becoming part of the group, a friend, family even. It was hard to see if they were using him or not, when they were living in each other’s back pockets and he wasn’t able to get some distance to get his head straight on his own.

But Daryl realized very quickly, that everything he was hearing his brother say, he had never really said to him in person.

_“-playing errand boy to a bunch of pansy-asses, niggers, and democrats._

_“You’re nothing but a freak to them. Redneck trash. That’s all ya are._

_“They’re laughing at you behind yer back. You know that, don’cha?_

_“I got a little news for you, son. One of these days, they’re gonna scrape you off their heels like you was dogshit.”_

It was hard to not believe everything, when all he had known was his brother’s word. And it was usually true, no one had given the Dixon brother’s a second glance before the world ended - except to explain their location to the cops. Why the hell would these people be any different? Why would Rick treat him any different? He was just a Dixon, and his brother was always right.

_“Ain’t nobody ever gonna care about you except me, little brother. Ain’t nobody ever will.”_

\--

(1)

Daryl always made sure he had Rick’s back, one step behind the other just in case he needed him. Giving the ex-lawman a chance to not worry about one angle, at least, because Daryl had it covered. Even though they were in the prison now, and had layers of walls and chain-link fences to protect them, it was hard to shake that instinct to always be on alert for his leader.

Especially with the inmates still lurking around.

Daryl didn’t like it, didn’t want them anywhere near them. But Rick had set out boundaries, gave them a cell block and let them stay. He was a better man than Daryl was, but the redneck already knew that.

The group had been moving some cars on the grounds, piling up the bodies they had killed the day before to burn, when the two strangers emerged from their cell block. The smile that had been on Rick’s face – goddamn Daryl could never get enough of that smile – had fallen like a cinder block, and all the tension had returned to his shoulders and arms as his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

When he stormed towards the two inmates, Daryl was right behind him. These guys looked harmless enough, but they didn’t have the luxury of taking chances. Not with Lori about to pop any day, and Hershel still mending and missing one foot, not to mention they finally had the chance to breathe and relax and fortify for the first time since the farm. It wasn’t worth it.

Rick laid down the law, as he always did, stating their terms were non-negotiable. And Daryl watched them flounder for answers, trying to appeal to what little humanity Rick still had in him. The little janky one begged and pleaded, talking about ghosts and blood and dead friends. Welcome to the new world, dude, they’d been dealing with this for months already. Now it could be someone else's turn. If it had been up to Daryl he would have sent them packing as soon as they found them in the cafeteria.

Then the inmates asked, kind of convincingly, if they could try and prove themselves – become a part of their group.

Ha, fat chance.

But Rick actually paused, and then turned to him. Daryl had been standing vigil, looking as intimidating as he could, until Rick had turned around and looked at him. Asking with just his eyes, what he thought.

_“You’re nothin’ but a freak to them. Redneck trash. That’s all ya are.”_

For months he thought that meant that no one would ever trust him, ask him for his opinion. Lived by that translation, until the night Dale had asked him for help. Then Rick started asking for his advice, both on the farm annd on the road over the winter.

And now Rick was asking again, and when Daryl did the slightest twitch that shook his head no, conveying _no – not worth it,_ Rick went with his answer.

Rick trusted his judgment.

Even if no one else did.

\--

(2)

Glen had once said that his kin, his family, was standing with him. Fought with him, lived at the prison with him. It was the first time they had mentioned family, that the group had become a family. Before that Daryl had really only considered Merle his kin. Merle was blood, they had the same Mom – even though they had different Dads, Daryl’s Pa loved to tell him that in between beatings, that he wasn’t really his anyway. Nope, the group may be close-knit, but they weren’t kin, not to Daryl.

Because he kept hearing his brother’s voice in his head.

_“They ain’t your kin. You’re blood.”_

But what was blood, what did you have to do to consider someone blood? Daryl had spilled plenty of blood for his family, and they had spilled it for him in return. His own and other peoples. He would die for them, he really would, had proved it many times to himself and to them, so really – there was no way he couldn’t call them his kin. His blood.

That was what they were. Glen, Maggie, Hershel, Beth, Michonne, Carl and Judi.

Rick.

It hurt just the same when the prison fell and he thought they were dead, as when he found Merle’s corpse chewing on one of the Governor’s men.

And he had felt the same terrifying mixture of fear and elation when he had heard Merle was alive but in Woodbury, as when he came out of the forest and saw Rick was alive but surrounded by the Claimers.

Your kin is where home is.

And home was wherever Rick was.

It had been way too easy to lay down his crossbow, tell Joe that if he wanted blood he could take it out of him. He barely flinched when they started hitting him, didn’t fight back even though he could have, he would have let them beat him to death if it saved Rick and Michonne and Carl’s life.

_“They ain’t your kin!”_

Like hell they weren’t.

But when Rick head-butted Joe in the face, turned and sunk his teeth into his neck and ripped out the flesh caught there until a fountain of blood was pouring out, Daryl struck back. It was always unspoken, that Daryl would follow Rick’s lead no matter what. He had told him a long time ago to just give him a signal, and ever since Daryl watched Rick like a hawk. A signal could be a nod, could be tensing his muscles before he pounced, could be firing the first shot. No matter what, Daryl would always follow him, would always look for that signal.

It was probably because he was always watching him, looking out for him, that he was able to hide for so long the fact that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Rick Grimes.

When morning had come, it spread light across the sky and made it easier for Daryl to see through the mess of his bangs where he was dragging the bodies to in the woods, no matter how long it had taken him because his side hurt like a _bitch._ Rick was leaning against the car, hands still shaking and the man was coated in blood from his beard to his fingertips. Daryl limped over to him with a bottle of water, taking the red rag out of his back pocket and getting it wet before handing it to the other man. He tried to protest, saying they should save the water, but he could find more damn water later – right now he looked like a reject from an Evil Dead remake and Carl didn’t need to see his father like that. Not after what they all witnessed last night.

Daryl had never been scared of Rick Grimes until that moment.

He had ripped Joe’s throat out with his _teeth_. 

Rick tried in vain to wipe the sticky blood off of his face and out of his beard, while Daryl carefully slid down the side of the car to sit next to him. _Fuck_ everything hurt, his chest, his ribs, it hurt to breathe, it hurt his face to wince or smile or squint his eyes against the sun, and it hurt to think. He had been with those guys, for days, he knew they were bad but-

He tried to apologize, explain he didn’t know what they were. What they were about to do, to Michonne, to Carl. God he felt like the lowest piece of shit on the planet, he felt dirty and stained, condemned. But Rick broke through that, shaking his head at Daryl’s stuttered words.

“That’s not on you,” he said, his voice was a little strained, barely croaked out, but quiet enough that the two other people near them couldn’t hear them. “You being here  - that’s everythang.” It didn’t feel like it, Daryl felt like he failed, he was always failing it seemed. With the prison. With Beth. He had almost lost Rick too, had helped those fuckers track him down, and had been too busy wallowing in self-pity to recognize that he knew those fucking boot-tracks. How could he have not made the connection.

“Hey,” Rick got his attention, and Daryl finally looked up, catching Rick’s eyes. Those stunning blue eyes, that were looking at him with nothing but pride, and gratefulness. And love. “You’re my brother.”

Daryl had lost his brother, had killed him himself, and the last thing he had ever said to him was _I just want my brother back_.

God, he felt so blind.

He tried to smile, he really did, but he didn’t know if it came out that way – because honestly he might have broken down crying if he hadn’t been so drained.

_“They ain’t your blood.”_

Yes they are.

\--

(3)

Daryl hadn’t heard the words _‘freak’_ or _‘redneck trash’_ echoing through his head in a long time, hadn’t really heard Merle’s voice at all when he thought about it, until he found himself behind the towering walls of Alexandria.

And it was like he was right back where he started.

He had become something back at the prison, in the group out on the road, a pillar of the community and the second in command in Rick’s dictatorship. Or maybe that was Michonne now, it was hard to tell; he had withdrawn a lot after Beth –

If he was being honest, he was still recovering when they first got to Alexandria. Still mourning the loss of someone who hadn’t expected anything of him and took care of him, brought hope and light to what should have been a dark and sad time. Without her there to brighten up the day or drag him off his sorry ass to do something instead of moping around, he fell further and further into himself. Maybe that was why it was so easy for Rick to fall into a role without him, to pull away and make himself a home inside the community. It was the first time since before the farm that Daryl began to feel very much alone.

Alone, with just his brother’s words, and memories of a destroyed home and a family that seemed to be slipping through his fingers like water.

_“They’re laughing at ya behind yer back, you know that don’cha?”_

It wasn’t his family that was laughing at him, but he didn’t doubt that statement for a second when it came to the people who lived in this sheltered town. He didn’t fit here, felt closed in and trapped, and unwelcome. If it wasn’t for Rick, and Aaron, Daryl doubted they would have let him through the gates.

He had confined himself to the porch of their house, for a long time, until Rick deemed the place worthy of them giving it a try. Deemed it safe. Daryl still didn’t trust it, he had never lived in a place like this, where the living rooms were as large as the double-wide he and Merle had shared before the world ended. He didn’t understand the people, how they lived in comfort without worrying about anything, didn’t want for anything. Even before everything went to hell all Daryl knew was how to survive, had to strive for it. What was he supposed to do now?

Deanna hadn’t even given him a job.

Was he really that useless in here?

_“You’re a joke is what’cha are. They’re laughing at you –“_

Yeah, no shit.

Then Aaron invited him over for dinner, and everything seemed to be looking a little up for him.

He should’ve known better.

“Heard Aaron found a job for you.”

Daryl had been leaning against one of the banisters on the porch, watching the rain pour in torrential torrents from the dark sky, smoking a cigarette to try and keep himself as zen as he could. He had lost that, somewhere in the wilderness of the world between the walkers and the decaying buildings and the people who wanted to take anything good for themselves. So he had been working on that, going out to set up traps in the woods to calm himself – even though they had enough food to survive the next two years. Working on the bike in Aaron and Erik’s garage, the monstrosity was becoming a Frankenstein of a bike with all the miscellaneous parts, but Daryl kind of liked that. It would be something that was all his, unique and unlike anything else in the world. Something he didn’t have to share.

Speaking of –

Rick came over to stand beside him, and Daryl couldn’t tell you how relieved he was when he saw the man with some of the scruff starting to spread across his cheeks and chin once more. He shaved every other morning now, but Daryl secretly hated when he shaved so clean he looked like the wide-eyed Sheriff’s deputy that he had met in the quarry on the outskirts of Atlanta. Because that wasn’t what he was; Rick was a hardened manipulative man, who could survive anything, chew up a hammer and spit out nails. He was tough, ruthless, and as much as that may have turned Daryl on, he missed his Rick from the prison. With the farmer’s tan and the short beard, curling hair and sweat slicked button down shirts, cuddling his daughter at dinner and teasing his son about staying up all night reading comic books. Who didn’t want to look at a gun, let alone touch one. Who still remembered how to smile.

Not these fake ones, or the ones he pointed at Jesse.

Yeah, Daryl wasn’t one to share, and he knew better than to hope he wouldn’t have to.

Rick wasn’t his to claim.

_“Ain’t nobody gonna ever care about you, little brother. Ain’t nobody ever will.”_

He didn’t need Merle to remind him of that.

“Wants me to recruit with’em,” Daryl said after he exhaled his last drag, the smoke twisting and turning in the air desperately against the humidity of the rain, before fading to nothing. “Has parts fer a bike, too. Gonna fix one up, then start goin’ with ‘im in a week or so.”

“That’s where you’ve been every day?” It wasn’t accusing, but it border-lined the sentiment.

“Just three houses down,” Daryl shot back, tossing the cigarette butt into the wet grass, “ya want’d ta find me so bad wouldn’ be too hard to do.” It kind of felt like Rick wanted to pick a fight, and Daryl wasn’t in the mood for that. Just a week, and then he’d have that bike ready to go and he could put some distance between himself and this fucking crush on Rick Grimes. He was so tired of it, two years was too long to still be staring after the other man.

Especially when he clearly wasn’t interested. And never would be.

“Be easier if ya just told me where you went,” Rick grumbled, obviously watching him.

“Didn’t know I had ta check in with ya, _constable_ , am I on probation now? Gotta tell ya my where-abouts?”

“That’s not what I meant-“

“Well I _will_ be leavin’ the state, jus’ so ya know, sometime next week. Won’t be able to ta check in for a while. Promise no liquor or gamlin’ tho.” Shit, he was being snarky. Merle was rubbing off on him, apparently, even from beyond the grave.

“The _state_ ,” Rick asked, his eyes wide with surprise. “The hell you leavin’ the state for!?”

“Aaron says he usually goes out ‘bout fifty miles or so.”

“Jesus _Christ,_ Daryl!” Rick almost shouted. “How could you-“

“How could I _what_ ,” Daryl practically seethed, and he was up in Rick’s space now because he was _pissed_ , pinning him to the porch banister and glaring right into those bright blue eyes. He did _not_ get to fucking ignore him for days because of a pair of big tits and blonde hair across the street that was brave enough to smile at him _and then_ be fucking offended that Daryl was going to leave. He found a fucking job, just like Rick and Carol asked, found something that let him stay in this damn community. So Rick could stop his damn bitching, Daryl didn’t want to hear it.

“You’re really just gonna leave us here.”

“Y’all seem ta be doin’ fine on yer own,” Daryl said, not letting up on his glare.

“Are you serious?” Rick blanched. “You feel _underappreciated_ so you’re running away?”

“FUCK YOU,” Daryl screamed at him. “I did want you told me to! I got a job! What more do you fucking want from me!?”

“I want you here!” Rick shouted back. “Where I can fucking see you! Not fifty miles from here in the middle of nowhere!”

“Kinda hard to see me when you’re never home, _constable_. How _is_ Jesse? Ya talked to her _husband_ lately?” Daryl was being petty, he knew, but he was fucking _tired_ , and his heart _always_ hurt. Always. Because of Rick fucking Grimes. He was tired of it. And Rick was gaping at him like a fish, offended and shocked and anger building within him rapidly. He looked like he was about to hit Daryl.

Fucking do it, then.

Daryl didn’t let up an inch, didn’t blink. _Fucking hit me_ , _I dare you._

Rick look so enraged, and Daryl had never been on the receiving end of that look, most people who he looked at like that ended up dead on the ground seconds later. And if it had really come to this? Then fine, end it – just fucking end it. Because Daryl was done.

_“Ain’t nobody ever gonna care about you.”_

It must have reflected in his gaze, the hurt and all the emotion tearing him apart inside, because the anger disappeared from Rick’s face.

_“Ain’t nobody ever will.”_

“You know I care about you, right?” Rick looked so open, so honest, in that moment – Daryl didn’t want to be there anymore. Like hell Rick was doing this to him, he was going to _get away_ and _move on_ , remove himself from the man’s orbit and finally center himself again. And he knew he was breathing heavy, and looked ready to bolt, because Rick grabbed him by the arms and Daryl flinched so hard he almost shook off the other man’s grip. He had been ready for a fight, a fist-fight, he wanted to fucking _bleed_ because everything hurt way too much for him not to be wounded. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you, we don’t do that to each other.”

Yeah, sure, that’s why Daryl felt like his chest was ripped open.

“Let go’a me.”

“No,” Rick stated, not looking away. He had this uncanny ability to look like he never blinked, and his blue eyes would bore into Daryl’s, leaving him feeling stripped bare. Like the other man could see everything he was thinking, though he knew that wasn’t possible.

“Rick, let go of me.” He didn’t know how much clearer he could be, and Daryl tried his best to sound threatening. But Rick wasn’t scared of him.

“No, Daryl tell me what’s goin’ on.” He couldn’t do it, couldn’t do any of this anymore. He stopped pulling away from the man, stopped trying to pull himself out of his iron-grip, and instead pushed forward. So close his chest was pressed against the other’s, making his back hit the banister and getting so close to his face their noses brushed. He let out a shaky breath, knew Rick could feel his heart hammering inside his chest, used his arms to bracket the other man in. Neither could move, and Daryl couldn’t bring himself to close the gap between their lips.

But _God,_ they fit together like puzzle pieces, his hips slanted right against Rick’s, the curve of his chest molded to Rick’s own, they were just about the same height and Daryl had never thought it would feel like this just to lean against the other man. Fuck, this is not what he wanted, he wanted to fucking forget Rick Grimes, not have more material for when he was alone at night and took matters into his own hand. So to speak.

Did not want more memories to torture himself with.

And _finally_ , Rick understood, how could he not. Daryl was half hard just feeling the other man so close to him, touching him all along his front and – fuck he couldn’t bring himself to kiss him. So he brushed his nose against Rick’s, the smallest movement, and he must have looked so sad in that moment. He felt sad. And Rick let up the smallest amount on his grip on his arms, so Daryl took his opening and pulled away and disappeared into the house before Rick could come to his senses.

Daryl was just grateful he didn’t have to see any looks of disgust on Rick’s face.

\--

(Bonus)

Daryl remembered now.

Falling in that reviene, trying to climb out and falling a second time, hitting his head so hard he picture Merle sauntering up to taunt him. As he usually would, if he had been there. Spitting lies into his face about the people he would later call his family. Then laughing at him, and in his own way encouraging him to climb that cliff and get back to the farm before he died.

He can still picture him up there at the top of the cliff, laughing and cackling like a hyena. Calling him like a dog, taunting him with names and his usual slur of feminizing insults. _“What the matter, Darylina? Throw away that damn purse and climb!”_ He started shouting at the hallucination, though it always answered him in kind. _”Don’t be like that, I’m on your side!”_ He struggled up the cliff, climbing faster and faster as his brother continued to laugh down at him. He was breathing harshly, the pain in his side on fire it hurt so bad, but he grabbed at anything that could hold him and dug his hands into the dirt and gravel on the side of the cliff until his fingers bled.

Merle had let out one last laugh, one that would echo in his head for years, and reached for him tauntingly.

_“Grab your friend Rick’s hand.”_

And Daryl reached, dug his fingers into the dust and burnt grass and pulled himself on to level ground. Rolled up onto the path, scrambled to his feet, only to find the trees and the breeze to greet him.

_"Yeah you bett'r run!"_

Ever since that day, whenever they would escape something that should have killed them, Daryl would do the same thing. When they reunited after the farm burnt to the ground, when they traveled through the dark and barely made it through the herd of walkers before Alexandria, and countless times on runs and the long winter before the prison, he would reach for Rick’s hand. They would grasp each other quickly, yes I’m okay, we’re all in one piece, and then move on to the rest of their family that needed something a little more than just that one touch.

But for Rick and Daryl that was all they needed.

So when he came back from his first run, and his bike was a little worse for wear, and Daryl himself looked like he had gone through the mill, it was only instinct when the man approached the gates a little after midnight to reach over to grab Rick’s hand. The constable should’ve been home with his kids, he knew, and the man looked like he had just thrown on whatever was near him and ran out the door once they radioed that Aaron and Daryl had returned with some new recruits. Rick ran up, wearing old jeans and a white T-shirt under his constable jacket, and Daryl grabbed his hand when he reached for him. A short shake, _yes I’m fine, stop looking like I fucking died. I always come back don’t I?_

Rick took him home, dragged him into the dark house, and pushed him against the door as soon as it was closed. Started looking over every inch of him, obviously not trusting the Alexandrian people to know what they were doing, no matter what Daryl protested. He had been gone for three weeks, and they hadn’t left on a good note, so he had both expected and didn’t expect the greeting he got. He expected Rick to be overly touchy, overly affectionate and apologetic. That's just the way he was, and Daryl had kind of been looking forward to making up with his friend. Even mumble an apology of his own.

He didn’t except the man to kiss him.

Quick and hard before pulling back and – he had the fucking nerve to start _talking_.

He didn’t expect the _kind_ of apologies that fell from his mouth. That he was an idiot (yes) and blind (double yes) and he was so sorry he never saw anything before (a million time yes, because Daryl had been so _obvious_ ) and he better never come back looking like that again or he was going to kill him.

Daryl shut him up by pulling him back in and kissing the breath out of him.

_“Ain’t nobody ever gonna care about you, little brother.”_

_Shut up._

Daryl dragged Rick backwards, away from the door and into the guest room he never used because he preferred to sleep on the couch in the living room where he could better watch other the house. Rick was ripping off his jacket and tearing at the buttons on his shirt, and Daryl was slipping under the white T-shirt and running his hands along Rick’s sides and hips. And pulling at his gun belt, tugging it loose until it clattered to the floor. Fuck, he’d have to clean the scuff marks off later as an apology.

For now he shoved the man into the door like he had done to him moments before, devouring him, licking into his mouth and teasing his tongue against Rick’s. He was getting drunk off the taste of him, the feel of his scruff scraping roughly against the hair on his own face, breathing the same air as they panted for breath when they dared to break apart before diving back in.

He wasn’t waiting a second longer, no matter if Rick never wanted to do this again beyond tonight. He sank to his knees, and undid Rick’s jeans as fast as his fingers would allow.

"Daryl, you don't-" Rick began to protest, but Daryl silenced him with just one look, a glare full of an entirely different kind of heat from beneath his dark bangs. Like hell Rick's fucking self-righteousness was taking this away from him.

"Ya migh' want ta keep quiet fer this part," Daryl said lowly, all gravely tones and deep Southern drawl.

In other words, shut the hell up.

It was surprisingly easy to drown out the “Dixon’s aren’t fags” speech when he had Rick’s dick in his mouth. The other man’s muffled moans he tried to smother helped a lot, his fist between his teeth and his other hand treaded through Daryl’s hair, abortedly trying to move his hips and shallowly fucking Daryl’s mouth the best he could while Daryl pinned his hips to the door. And Daryl was giving everything he had, he'd been thinking of this for years, perfected just how he would bring the man to the edge and then watch him as he fell apart beneath his hand and in his mouth. It had been too long, and Rick wasn't going to last, so Daryl didn't let up an inch when Rick's grip in his hair tightened with his steadily increasing pants for air.

"D-Dar' I'm gonna-"

_Damn straight you are._

When he came, he came so hard he almost doubled over, and if Daryl hadn't had him pinned by the hips Rick would have slid down the door to join him on the floor.

It took him a second to catch his breath, which Daryl didn't mind because _Jesus_ he hadn't don't that in a while. It also took Rick a minute to realize Daryl hadn't spilled a drop, and then his eyes got really wide. And really dark. Then he reached down to give Daryl a hand in standing up.

God, he was going to hell. Because all he could think in that moment was _"grab your friend Rick's hand."_

The smile that spread across his face was _filthy_ , as he let Rick haul him to his feet and shove him onto the bed.

_Don't mind if I fucking do._


	7. Anything (and Everything)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get to sex in this chapter because, once again, I'm racing against the clock for work. But this is the last day for Rickyl week! I enjoyed doing these prompts and character studies SO MUCH, no matter how crunched for time I was. 
> 
> As of right now, this is the end, BUT - I've had a few people message me here and on tumblr with a couple of questions and prompts I wouldn't mind answering. So I might continue, add a few one-shots here and there if anyone has anything they'd like to see me write. I will confine it to Rickyl, but other than that I'm open to suggestions. 
> 
> Thank you everyone who has read and commented and left kudos, I adore all of you :)
> 
> This chatper is ALL fluff, to finish everying off. Short and sweet. I hope you enjoy it.

**Day 07** – Anything Goes

\--

_If the prison never fell_

_\--_

_So my favorite trope for Rickyl is when they are this **perfect** little post-apocalyptic nuclear family with the 2.5 kids and everything. Because their lives are obviously not perfect, the world has ended, but they get to be so goddamn happy I can’t even stand it. This is also something that would probably never happen now with all the shit that they have gone through, but COULD HAVE if the prison never fell. They were all so relaxed and happy and had something so good, created something so amazing there that I mourn the loss of that home more than anything. _

_So I was going to do some Rickyl family fluff, but instead I’ll just do a little domestic!Rickyl, because Rick is a worry-wart and Daryl loves to tease him. I think if Daryl ever got comfortable enough in a relationship, that snark we love so much from him could be translated into this playful flirting that is just **precious.** I can dream right? Anyway – _

_Welcome to cannon divergence, enjoy your stay._

\--

Rick had been outside all day, ever since the sun rose early in the morning before anyone had really woken up. He hadn’t been able to sleep, worry churning in his mind and keeping him wide awake. So much so he finally hauled himself out of bed before the sun had even come up, and made his way towards the section of yard they had roped off for the vegetable patches and the pile of timber he hoped would be the pig pen attempt part two. When he first got there everything was doused in tones of blue, light barely beginning to streak across the sky, but he could still see the walkers ambling beyond the chain-link fence and the rows of trees beyond them.

He spent most of the day watching that tree-line. 

“He probably just found a deer or somethin’,” Beth tried to assure him that afternoon, when she brought Judith down to try and entice Rick inside (at Carol’s request, of course). The little girl was happily giggling by her feet, smacking her hands against the ground where it had started to become muddy, and shrieking in another fit of giggles when she stumbled upon earth worms woven through the dirt. “Ya know how he gets out there.”

Rick just made an affirmative sound, trying desperately to hold up some of the mismatched wood pieces and figure out how to make a proper structure. He held some nails between his teeth just in case, with the hammer hanging through one of his belt loops within easy reach. Beth sighed, picking up his mud-stained daughter after looking up at the cloudy sky. It had been getting steadily darker over the past hour, the clouds turning from a light grey that still lit up the grounds well to a rumbling dark overcast that was close to turning black. He gave up after another minute of struggling with the bits of plywood and broken up pallets, spitting the nails into his hand and pocketing them. The rain was going to ruin whatever he made anyway. 

“Ya gonna come inside?” Beth tried, setting Judi on her hip and nodding towards the prison up the hill. Bless her for trying.

“Gotta cover up the wood with tarps, then I’ll be in,” Rick grumbled, hands on his hips and frown on his face. Distractions weren’t really helping with his bad mood, though he tried to not take it out on the young woman watching over his daughter. She still huffed at him, giving him a look that must have border-lined on a glare, but really only made him smile a little bit. “Five minutes,” he assured her.

If Daryl knew he was sulking this much because he didn’t come back from his hunt last night, he’d probably punch Rick in the shoulder hard enough to bruise. 

Shit, he really was sulking, wasn’t he?

Rick shook his head, laid out the blue tarps to keep the wood from getting wet once the sky opened up, and kept subtly checking the treeline – as he had been all day. The redneck could take care of himself, he was the last person that Rick would ever have to worry about out in the woods alone, but still-

With a crack of thunder loud enough to make Rick flinch, rain started to spit from the sky. That was his cue, apparently; stop moping, Grimes, he’s fine. His tools were scattered everywhere around the lot, and took a minute to gather them, but by the time he had everything together the rain had turned to thick sheets of warm water pouring like buckets in the summer late summer air. 

If he hadn’t taken so long he wouldn’t have heard the sharp whistle from outside the gates.

Thank God.

Dropping everything, Rick ran to the gates, the rope holding the front gate together slick and hard to grasp but he dropped his weight to pull it open until he saw the shadow that was Daryl dart inside. The rain was relentless, so instead of running up the hill towards the prison the two men darted into the stairwell of the front guard tower, still only partially rebuilt from the Governor’s attack. They were soaked to the bone, but the rain and warm humid air still filtered through the broken support beams and crumbling bricks so they didn’t freeze once out of the storm.

“Were ya waitin’ for me!?” Daryl asked, almost shouted over the rain and the thunder.

“Was about to go inside,” Rick told him. “Was out in the garden when it started pourin’”

“That so.”

“Yeah,” Rick challenged, narrowing his blue eyes at the other. Daryl rarely out-right smiled, but his eyes always reflected the laughter that he couldn’t let out. And his eyes showed he was laughing at Rick.

“So Carol ain’t gonna bitch at me that you was moping all day ‘cause I took too long.”

“Carol needs to mind her own fuckin’ business,” Rick grumbled out, almost lost in the sound of the rain hitting the tower. 

“Wha’ was that?” there was that snark, the smirk that bordered on a smile.

“Yer an asshole,” Rick shot back. “Where they hell were you?”

“Tracked a deer, lost it,” Daryl shrugged, but still had that list to his lips. Here in the guard tower, with no one else around, it was easy for the hunter to relax into himself, into the easy banter he and Rick had. The redneck could even be playful, if coaxed; he seemed to be in one of those moods now. “Ended up doing other stuff,” he came closer, all dark wet hair and clothes that stuck to his skin, outlined his broad chest and wide shoulders. Pale blue eyes almost glowing in the faint light filtering through the bomb-made skylights. “ _Thangs._ ”

“That so,” Rick got out, the air leaving his lungs as the hunter cornered him. “Thangs ya couldn’of done here at home?”

There was still something wonderful about calling this place home.

“Nope,” Daryl answered simply, and _God_ that was the closest thing he’d seen to a smile on Daryl’s face in a long time. Easy and a total accident and unpracticed and _perfect._ “Why, ya miss me?” He was so close now Rick could notice every bead of water tracing down his face and neck.

“Nope,” Rick answered with a small breathy smile, and let the other man pull him in, gather him close and kiss him for everything he was worth. He tasted like cigarettes and smelled like the forest and engine oil, lips cool under the slick of rain water and mouth hot and enticing. Their wet clothes made them stick together where they were pressed chest to chest, but Rick could feel the warm of his skin through the wet clothing as Daryl pushed him into the brick wall. It took a few minutes before Rick could finish his answer, Daryl not wanting to let up in lapping into his mouth and mapping out every inch as if he was rediscovering it all over again. Breathless, panting, lips swollen red from the rain and the kiss, Rick finally smirked, “Just hate sleepin’ in that tiny ass bunk all alone.”

The laugh Daryl barked out echoed off the stone walls, and Rick got to taste that smile as Daryl dove back in for another kiss, all upturned lips and teeth and huffs of laughter. Rick vowed he would spend the rest of his life doing everything he could to keep that wide, playful, _happy_ grin on Daryl Dixon’s face.


End file.
